


less a sacrifice than a possession

by crownsandbirds



Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler, ダイヤのA | Daiya no A | Ace of Diamond
Genre: Alternate Universe - Kuroshitsuji, Alternate Universe - Victorian, Demon Deals, Demons, Flirting, Implied Sexual Content, Light Dom/sub, M/M, miyuki flirts with everyone, ryosuke is ryosuke
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-17
Updated: 2019-10-17
Packaged: 2020-12-21 10:34:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21073469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crownsandbirds/pseuds/crownsandbirds
Summary: When Dr. Miyuki Kazuya says, “Rumor has it that you lost one of your eyes in a… particularly unsavory deal,” Kuramochi startles so badly he almost loses his white-gloved grip around the porcelain teapot.Ryosuke, however, smiles and hums, takes a sip of his tea. “Indeed?”“Oh, yes, indeed,” Miyuki purrs. “The details are unbecoming, as you know tends to happen with such stories amongst inferior minds. Not the kind of tale one would tell in such a noble house.”His Lordship Kominato Ryosuke has the young surgeon Miyuki Kazuya over for a nice cup of tea.





	less a sacrifice than a possession

When Dr. Miyuki Kazuya says, “Rumor has it that you lost one of your eyes in a… particularly unsavory deal,” Kuramochi startles so badly he almost loses his white-gloved grip around the porcelain teapot. 

Ryosuke, however, smiles and hums, takes a sip of his tea. “Indeed?”

Miyuki’s smirk is dreadful and cutting, tears at Kuramochi’s perception in such a precise way that it’s like he has pulled out the scalpel Kuramochi knows he keeps hidden inside the breast pocket of his fine suit.

It  _ is _ a fine suit, as Miyuki is a fine man - but it strays far from the handmade, gorgeous cut of Ryosuke’s clothes, as much as the open angle of Miyuki’s legs as he sits on one of Ryosuke’s expensive chairs tells to his perfect manners as something learned at some point in his two decades of life, and not as something acquired from birth. Elegance doesn’t come to the young surgeon naturally, Kuramochi can see only because he has the two Kominato brothers to compare him to; but Miyuki has a dangerously beautiful face, an innate sense of manipulation, and the bloody edge of peril inside the curve of his wrist. He looks at people as if he's thinking of the best way to slice them open in his surgery table - hungrily, and curiously, and _greedily_. 

And, Kuramochi thinks nervously, he’s probably way too intelligent for his own good. 

It’s no surprise he would be a favorite guest in the Kominato estate. 

“Oh, yes, indeed,” Miyuki purrs. “The details are unbecoming, as you know tends to happen with such stories amongst inferior minds. Not the kind of tale one would tell in such a noble house.”

Ryosuke tilts his head gracefully to the side, in a gesture probably meant to be casual but that just reads as borderline uncanny - still, his ever-present smile, the gently mocking curve of his gorgeous lips, stays put and flawless. “And surely not in front of my dear brother.”

Sitting prim and proper by Ryosuke’s side, Haruichi blushes the delicate shade of pink Kuramochi has gotten used to seeing from him at the slightest of his brother’s teasing. 

“Surely not,” Miyuki agrees easily. “We wouldn’t want to ...ah,  _ corrupt _ his young mind with distasteful lies.” 

“Miyuki-sensei, I beg you not to mock me as such,” Haruichi murmurs, and Miyuki laughs, sounding like a particularly pleased and feisty stray cat. 

“I assure you it all stems from the deep affection I hold for you, my pretty,” Miyuki places teasing fingers on the inner curve of Haruichi’s fragile wrist. 

“Pay him no mind, Haruichi,” Ryosuke says, smile slashing deeper in the corners of his mouth. “He’s a disrespectful fiend.” 

Miyuki places a hand over his chest, bows in what can only be seen as a mockery of submission - when he raises his head again, he takes Haruichi’s small hand in his own and presses a lingering kiss to its back. “I pray I haven’t offended you, young master,” he drawls, golden eyes glinting like a feline’s behind his glasses. “Do forgive your slum-born servant.”

Haruichi blushes even harder, cheeks pink as if covered in soft fairy dust. “No offense taken, sensei,” he says, clearly charmed by Miyuki even despite his embarrassment. 

“But  _ still _ , Kazuya,” Ryosuke says, taking another sip from his tea, the one Kuramochi brewed personally for him, as Miyuki straightens up on the high chair again. “A man of science such as yourself wouldn’t believe those distasteful lies.” 

Ryosuke has opened one of his eyes slightly, Kuramochi notices - not the  _ left _ one, not the one where - 

Even Ryosuke’s normal eye, however, possesses an iris filled an intensely terrifying red color, the tone of which a dead match to blood pulsing from someone’s sliced artery. Kuramochi would know. He’s had more than one opportunity to compare. 

Miyuki shivers a little, and Kuramochi can’t tell if it’s due to excitement or fear. Perhaps both. 

“Evidently not.” Kazuya carefully sets his teacup back on its saucer. “I believe solely on what I can see with my own two eyes. And what I can’t see, and what I think about what I can’t -” he licks a stray drop of tea from the corner of his lips, “I keep to myself.” 

Ryosuke’s eye slides closed again, and he laughs. “A particularly smart move. You might survive us yet, my dear.” 

Miyuki’s grin is impossibly satisfied. “Might?” 

“That’s for me to know,” Ryosuke says as he stands up from his seat with all the arrogant elegance of a natural-born noble, followed suit by Haruichi and then by Miyuki, “and for you to guess. Kuramochi, if you’d please walk our handsome doctor to the door. I know he’s unused to grandiose states, and gets lonesome if he walks all by himself.” 

“What with how often your lordship invites me for dinner, I may just start getting familiar.” 

“Good evening, Kazuya,” Ryosuke smiles, allows Miyuki to press a greedy kiss to his signet ring - the one with the Kominato crest, kept around his middle finger and that assigns him as the head of the family. “Get home safely. You never know what perils may await in the shadows of our town.”

Miyuki takes his engraved cane and his coat when Kuramochi offers them to him, tips his hat to Ryosuke and Haruichi in turn, and allows himself to be guided to the enormous wooden doors of the Kominato household. 

“Thank you, Kuramochi,” Miyuki says, tips his hat to him as well. “A perfect butler for a perfect family. It’s always a pleasure seeing you as well.”

“That is an honor I’m undeserving of, sir.” 

“Oh, trust me, darling,” Miyuki purrs as he pushes the door open himself, before Kuramochi gets the chance to. “You deserve a lot more from me.” he steps closer for a moment, trails the very tips of his light fingers on the curve of Kuramochi’s jaw, tips his chin up with a slight push, chuckles at the way he freezes. “Come to my house alone one of these days, and I’ll show you.”

“Show me what, sir?” Kuramochi stutters, nearly falters.

Miyuki shrugs, a casual gesture with no relation to the sultry weight of his gaze as it trails over Kuramochi’s figure. “A pleasant dinner. My book collection. The paintings I keep in my personal quarters. Who knows.” 

Miyuki leans even closer, broad chest pressed to Kuramochi’s, and whispers in his ear, “That’s for me to know, and for you to guess.” 

When he steps outside at last, it’s smooth and swift, and before Kuramochi can even gather back some hold on his composure. 

He’s still breathing himself into calm when he hears, “You know, you’re remarkably prude,” in Ryosuke’s airily sweet voice. 

He startles badly, finds his back pressed against the door as Ryosuke moves to stand in front of him and lifts a hand to fix some unseen flaw on his collar. 

“My lord?” he stammers. Ryosuke is close, very close - the height difference is obvious, but Ryosuke has enough presence that Kuramochi winces, makes himself smaller as Ryosuke arches up like a cat against him, smiles up at him while wrapping an arm around his shoulders. 

“I  _ said _ ,” Ryosuke slides his thigh between Kuramochi’s legs, pushes up until he earns a choked off whine, “you’re remarkably prude. For a demon.”

The pressure is divine, as is the feeling of Ryosuke’s arms wrapped around him, of his sinuous waist when Kuramochi dares to slide a hand down his curves. The moment he gathers some sense again, Ryosuke is staring at him, the glowing Faustian mark in his left eye as staggeringly, inhumanly beautiful now as it was when they met, when Kuramochi drew it for the first time. The sick glint of the possession mark, the sign that tells to the contract they made, shines on its own even in the relative darkness of the main hall - purple and strangely unsettling, distorted light, feeding off of itself, off of Kuramochi's warped personal hell and Ryosuke's damned soul, casting shadows into shadows.

“So, Kazuya invited you to his house,” Ryosuke hums. His ring is cold on Kuramochi’s nape, the weight of the carved signet in the gold leaving a mark on Kuramochi's normally unmarred skin. 

A nod. Ryosuke smiles. 

“He’s a whore,” he remarks, easy and breathy, as casually as if he’s commenting on the pleasant rainy weather. “A gorgeous one, though. And smart. I might just let him have you for the night one of these days.”

Kuramochi is hard, painfully so, and Ryosuke is the most gorgeous thing he's ever seen, down in Hell or on this wretched Earth. Sometimes he wonders if  _ he _ was the one to give up his soul - if there was a disturbance in the contract Ryosuke signed with his own blood, some sort of rippling and tearing through the fabric of the natural order of things, and now Ryosuke is the one holding the leash around Kuramochi's neck, the mark in his eye proof not of his submission but of his ownership, of his eternal dominance over Kuramochi's existence. 

"One way or the other," Ryosuke whispers, moving closer, clutching tighter, purring when Kuramochi wraps his arms around his hips at last, "you're mine tonight. And all the nights to follow. Until you  _ devour _ my soul whole," he finishes, licking his lips, breath warm and soothing on Kuramochi's lips. 

"And after that," Kuramochi gasps, unraveling, shattering to pieces at Ryosuke's feet. "Forever, if you'll have me."

"Oh." Ryosuke's grin could draw blood even from Kuramochi's empty veins. "I'll have you."

And then he moves away, suddenly, and extends a hand to Kuramochi. "Come. Take me to bed."

His voice is certain of itself, and all the more sweet for its delicate arrogance - and Kuramochi takes his hand, and follows, and his entire being trickles past his devoted lips when he says, "Yes, my lord."

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> • me and my dear louise came up with this au this morning and discussed it for about 15 minutes and lo and behold. 
> 
> • miyuki was definitely not born a noble, but he has climbed his way up enough that he's close friends with people like the kominatos. a young surgeon, has some unsavory underground activities that make him useful for figures such as ryosuke. 
> 
> • title taken, once more, from this article. it has absolutely nothing to do with black butler, but it does have a lot to do with daiya. 
> 
> • (whispers) haruichi also sold his soul, but that's a story for another time.


End file.
